


Freedom thy name is Adam

by WatchforWitches



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, But then Ronan, Fluff and Angst, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, This was supposed to be a character study, a not original fic about Adam and hands, and it spiraled from there, pynch - Freeform, sort of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 07:24:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8788909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatchforWitches/pseuds/WatchforWitches
Summary: “The most important thing to Adam Parrish, though, had always been free will, the ability to be his own master… This is what it was to be Adam.”Adam has a nightmare and Ronan is there, because he always is.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for clicking this! This is my first work on here, so I hope you like it. It started as a weird character study and then morphed into Pynch fluff and angst because I have no self-control. I also have no idea if the formatting will end up right, so yell at me in the comments of not. I wrote this at 4 am so here it goes.

Free will was a strange and monumental thing to Adam Parrish, and to his survival. Growing up in a place like he did, his own freedom was the only thing he always needed. A safety blanket that reminded him, if nothing else, he could one day leave the shit hole that he had called home, and pursue a better life. He could do it alone, he could save himself, Adam Parrish, the one man army. 

So, becoming the main element in a sacrifice to a sentient forest had never been his plan. He hadn’t even known what it meant, only that it had been necessary at the time he did it, that Gansey had been pissed, that Ronan had looked terrified. 

Freedom became something that was not his to decide anymore, and he was petrified of what this meant.The thoughts invaded by Cabeswater no longer felt like his own, he felt tainted somehow, like something was always alive in him. 

It was similar to the way he first felt about Ronan. His stares weren’t subtle. Adam could feel his gaze, in class, in his apartment, from the rearview mirror of the camaro where Adam pretended to sleep. It was heavy and made Adam feel like something was even more awake inside of him. He started staring back, and when his thoughts began to morph into Ronan’s face, or when they tried to fill in what Ronan’s tattoo looked like, Adam was scared. Not because it was Ronan, the boy never really scared him, not when he had grown up with someone like his father, but because Cabeswater made it hard to sort through his own thoughts. It was all a scramble of what Adam had thought, and what Cabeswater made him think, made him feel. But this didn’t feel like Cabeswater, Adam had known what that felt like, knew the drumming of it in his blood. Adam hadn’t known what this feeling was. It felt like everything he’d never seen growing up, like safety, trust, a sense of belonging. All the things his parents hadn’t felt for him, or for one another. It was something new and beautiful and so fragile that Adam was afraid of ruining it, ruining Ronan. 

But then they had kissed and everything went quiet. Cabeswater calmed in him, for once since Adam had muttered those words. I will be your hands. Adam’s own hands traced Ronan’s tattoo. I will be your eyes. Adam’s own eyes looked adoringly at Ronan, just as they had been. 

And after everything, the two looked just as adoringly.

The word demon still sometimes burned in his eyes though, the night when his free will was taken, while he was subject to witness his own hands try and kill his friends, his family. He knew, somewhere in his mind, that he would never be able to completely reconcile this from himself. 

He still dreamt it. It had been nearly a year ago, he had passed his first year of university at Harvard, he and Ronan had survived. It was summer, and the dog days of relaxing at the barns and working at the garage had caught up to him. The night terrors flashed behind his closed eyelids, his body moving closer to Ronan in his sleep, if that was possible. 

It was always gory when he dreamt it, he had seen so many versions of it in his own mind he had forgotten the real details of it, it was all slurred through the mirage of sleep. His hands, Ronan’s neck, Blue’s eye, his own face. His hands. His eyes. Him. This demon. This thing. Killing Cabeswater. Unmaking.

The worst was the crying. Adam could remember the crying clear from everything. He had always been so careful not to break in front of everyone. Sneaking into bathrooms and bedrooms when he felt choked with panic and tears. But that day was so solidly different from everything. He had been inconsolable, unreachable, his voice went raw from yelling. No matter how many tears fell, no one would fight back, no one would hit him, they all stood around him helplessly. Ronan, god Ronan, a year later and Adam still felt the pressure in his fingers of Ronan’s pulse, a year later and he still felt guilty doing so much as letting his lips skirt the edges down Ronan’s throat. 

The dream was not that different from his others. Blood, dying heartbeats, wild eyes, and broken pieces of teenage life. Adam woke with a start, tears wet his cheeks before he could come to, and Ronan was up before Adam could even take a breath. He didn’t say anything, just watched from his side of the bed as Adam wiped violently at his eyes, at the tears that insisted on falling despite it being long over. His breath was laboured, and he wished he could cradle away all his memory of the purple black bruises that decorated dream Ronan’s throat. “Adam?” Ronan was gentle now, cautious, a fellow survivor of night horrors, often and visceral.

“I’m sorry,” Adam quietly sobbed into his hands, “Sorry, go back to sleep.”

Ronan did not go back to sleep. Ronan leaned into Adam, circling his arms around Adam’s waist, sitting both of them up and pushing his chest to Adam’s back, holding him like he was trying to become a shield. “Shhh,” Ronan whispered into the back of Adam’s neck before placing a string of kisses there, “It’s okay. You’re safe now.” Ronan snaked his arms around Adam’s, prying his hands away from his face, holding them softly in his own. 

Adam tried to pull them back. Ronan knew after the nightmares it was hard for Adam to reconcile that his hands belonged only to him, that the deal was long broken. Adam was a logical thinking person, but this fear, when it made an appearance, rendered him irrational.  
“They are beautiful,” Ronan whispered softly, so softly, like he used to cradle Chainsaw when she was a baby sort of soft. The kind of soft that only Adam was ever privy to see, the tried drunk kind of Ronan that made an appearance at 3am, especially when his boyfriend just dreamt of his hands at his neck. “They are the first things I loved about you.” Ronan brought Adam’s hands to his mouth, like he had done a million times before, like he always would as long as Adam let him. 

Without thinking, Adam turned to face Ronan, so close and tangled he was nearly in his lap. He wasn’t crying anymore, but his face was red with it, his cheeks blotchy, his eyes wet looking. He rested his head on Ronan’s shoulder, breathing in heavily, closing his eyes. Ronan said nothing, but held Adam like it was all he ever wanted to do, like it was what he was made for- probably, he thought, because a certain portion of his brain believed it. 

“You’re so brave,” Ronan told him, because he was, because Ronan didn’t lie. 

“Pfft,” Adam made a wet sound of disbelief, tears still coating his throat, worry still scrunching his face tight and tired. “Right.”

“You are,” Ronan said it like he had never been more sure of something. Because he hadn’t. Adam Parrish had been through hell his whole life, and could still manage to say that he was alive, and that he went to Harvard university and he did that all himself. Ronan didn’t mean he was fearless, but that he had seen his fears head on even when quitting would have been much easier. Adam was a warrior, a fighter by definition. And he was the bravest person Ronan knew. 

He was still holding Adam’s hands, so he took them and held both of them to his throat, leaning his head into the juts of skin covered bone. Adam flinched at this, and tried to pull his hands away, flailing at the sight of them over Ronan’s neck. “No, what are you-”

“Shhh,” Ronan calmed him again, but moved Adam’s hands, kissing his palms. “These are your hands Adam Parrish. And they are so fucking beautiful, and so fucking strong.”

Adam thought of his hands, usually covered in page cuts, or motor oil, and he had a hard time coming up with the adjective beautiful, or strong, or anything that wasn’t thin and weathered. Adam dropped his head, but moved one of his hands to Ronan’s collar, sliding up until he was touching his neck, barely there, but still. Ronan sighed heavily, a breathy noise that came with relief. “You’ve never touched my- my neck, after a nightmare before,” Ronan swallowed thickly, worried he had said the wrong thing, worried Adam would take it back. 

“I know,” Adam whispered, head still down, still not looking up. “This- this is where, right here,” his thumb tapped at Ronan’s skin, a few inches below his jaw. “Always here.”

Ronan swallowed, and felt Adam’s fingers shift. He pushed his head out, pressing himself into Adam’s thumb. “I know,” he said, twisting his hand and Adam’s free hand together, “It’s okay.”  
Adam hummed softly, despite himself, he was dragging his mind from the dream, healing himself again, building himself back up. “Do you think it will ever not be terrible?”

“Amor una die,” Ronan spoke in soft latin, lying them both back against the pillows, kissing Adam’s hands, giving them back to him, a child parting with it’s favorite thing, “Fortasse una die.” 

Adam smiled softly, sadly, somehow viciously missing Ronan in that moment, even though he was right in front of him, it would never be enough, Adam could never have enough. He looked at his hands, held in front of him, flexing his fingers, clenching fists and releasing them, laying them on Ronan’s side and pulling himself to a tight hug around him. He wouldn’t sleep, not now, not yet, but he could stay here while Ronan slept. He knew Ronan wouldn’t sleep, but they would both close their eyes, they would both pretend sleep could come to them. 

Adam Parrish never understood freedom until he was next to Ronan Lynch, never tasted bubbling happiness on his tongue in such a strange and beautiful way, never wanted and feared more than he did now. But one thing he knew was that as long as he was in charge of his on free will, he would choose Ronan. 

Would choose him again, and again, and again. Because that’s what want was, that was his safety, his better life, his saving himself. Ronan was the life boat in front of him the whole time Adam had been trying to swim a thousand meters to shore. So Adam would hold him like a buoy, and tether himself here in his arms, and felt his freedom like redemption, like a holy saving grace, like becoming himself after years of being someone else. 

Adam Parrish, full volume, Adam Parrish, finally awake.

**Author's Note:**

> Latin- "One day love, perhaps one day" (Taken from Google so possibly wrong)
> 
> Kudos, and comments are really appreciated! I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
